


Courtship Behaviors of Corvus Corax

by vgersix



Series: Crowley's Bestiary Adventures [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1 Shared Braincell, 2 Halves of a Whole Idiot, 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bird Behavior, Bird Courtship, Comedy, Crack, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Nesting, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Canon, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix/pseuds/vgersix
Summary: It's been weeks since the world didn't end, and Aziraphale hasn't swept Crowley off his feet or carried him to bed yet. The demon can't understand it, and keeps waiting (increasingly impatiently) for the angel to make a move. Finally, enough is enough, and Crowley decides the multitude of human courtship rituals he's attempted clearly aren't doing the trick. His last ditch effort? Some less than human courtship rituals. They have feathers... angels have feathers... He thinks he might just be onto something, here...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Crowley's Bestiary Adventures [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627249
Comments: 35
Kudos: 233





	Courtship Behaviors of Corvus Corax

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who enjoyed "[True Facts About the Snake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250538)," here's some more (slightly less x-rated) animal foolishness for you.

It had been several weeks since the world didn't end. All things considered, Crowley couldn’t complain. It might have gone without saying, but having the world continue to exist was surely preferable to the alternative. 

Even so, if he had his druthers, he could stand to make a few improvements. 

After surviving their interrogations in Hell and Heaven respectively, they’d dined at the Ritz together — open and public and unafraid. After that, Crowley had more or less expected Aziraphale to carry him newlywed-style over the threshold of the bookshop and ravish him tenderly on the old comfortable couch in the back room.

That… hadn’t happened.

Instead, the angel had suggested they do “something fun!” 

“Like what?” Crowley asked, searching for any hint of flirtation in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale had continued to look at him like a particularly exuberant golden retriever, perfectly transparent in his bubbling, innocent joy. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “We could…” The angel’s face brightened to a truly dazzling level. “We could play a game!” 

Crowley’s eyebrow rose, eager to see where this was going. “Oh, yeah?” He practically purred in his deepest, most seductive tone. “I like games, angel. What sort of _game_ did you have in mind?” He gave Aziraphale the most obvious once-over he’d ever dared, hoping the angel would pick up on his energy and run with it. 

Instead, they’d spent the next three hours playing UNO.

After their third night in a row immersed in card games, Crowley was beginning to think Aziraphale was pulling some sort of elaborate joke on him. But when the angel met him at the door the following night, carrying a box that read, “Monopoly” up one side, Crowley could see it was time to get serious.

“No, angel,” he said simply. 

Aziraphale’s face fell, like a child who’d just had his ice cream dashed on the pavement and hadn’t quite recovered from the shock of it. 

“What do you mean, no?”

“You know that was one of ours?” Crowley nodded, indicating the Monopoly game. “It was meant to bring great suffering and familial conflict — pit brother against sister. Split marriages apart.” 

At the mention of ruined marriage, Aziraphale gasped, quickly setting the board game aside. “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t realize.”

“That thing,” Crowley pointed toward the game like it were some kind of deadly weapon, “has ruined more lives than necromancy.”

“Oh, dear.”

“No, angel,” Crowley repeated. “Tonight… we’re going out.”

There were at least five gay bars within walking distance of the bookshop, and Crowley was determined to visit them all, if that’s what it took. Surely Aziraphale would take the hint, surrounded by kissing, grinding couples, and finally be inspired to do a little grinding himself, given the proper motivation. At first, the angel seemed hesitant, uninspired by the music he would only label as “bebop.” Never mind that it covered the gamut from EDM to retro synthwave and all the way up to some 80’s power ballads that were currently bringing the house down. 

“We should dance, angel,” Crowley shouted over the thumping base line of “What a Feeling,” grabbing their fifth round of shots from the bar. “That’s what you do, here.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale turned to Crowley, pursing his lips in a smug smirk. “I have been frequenting this particular establishment since the 1860’s. I know perfectly well what one is meant to do here.”

 _Yesss!_ Crowley hissed internally. _He’s finally getting it!_

A few minutes later, he was dragging Aziraphale bodily from the dance floor, trying to explain in clipped sentences that, no, the gavotte was really not an acceptable approach to “It’s Raining Men.”

* * *

After weeks of trying just about any and everything right up to flinging himself at Aziraphale’s feet and ripping his clothes off, Crowley was frustrated, confused, and horny beyond belief. 

He was sitting on a bench in Saint James’ Park, watching the ducks float by, and feeling utterly defeated. He’d tried everything. Flowers, chocolates, mix tapes — one just chock full of Vivaldi — _The Four Seasons_ had practically made Aziraphale quiver with excitement when it first debuted, and Crowley had hoped it would send the saucy message he intended. It hadn’t.

If it weren’t for a certain behavior Aziraphale was exhibiting, Crowley might have thought this was all just a millennia-long misunderstanding. 

It had started gradually. Just a couple of days after the Apocalypse-that-Wasn’t, Crowley had arrived at the bookshop to find a corner of it had been tidied. Books that had previously been stacked along the back wall had been moved, and the windows had been scrubbed clean so the light shone in, casting wide sunbeams over the stone floor. There was a modern looking little side table — jet black and comprised entirely of right angles — and sitting on it, a smart speaker; one of those things you can ask questions of, or make to play music on command, or have tell you about the weather. 

Aziraphale hadn’t said a word about it, and neither had he, but it was obvious to any angel (or former) worth their feathers what it was — it was a space for Crowley. Aziraphale was rearranging, accommodating him. Nesting. 

Crowley was gazing off across the water, chin in his hands, unable to make sense of the situation, when something caught his eye. 

Two swans were making their way leisurely across the pond. They were lovely, and they looked happy together, just doing nothing; gliding on the water in no hurry. That they belonged together was not to be questioned. They were a perfect pair. And that’s when it hit him. 

Maybe he’d been going about this all wrong. Who was to say whether or not Aziraphale had been understanding him? Clearly he hadn’t been. It wouldn’t be like the angel to just ignore his advances intentionally. He was obviously just, somehow, not getting the message. There had to be some kind of disconnect. 

_How do you suppose they do it?_ Crowley wondered, watching the swans.

He couldn’t imagine there was much chocolate or flowers or bar hopping involved. But none of that had worked, anyway. And Aziraphale was _clearly_ nesting. That wasn’t a human behavior. It was an angelic one. And its meaning was unmistakable.

Angels had wings. 

Birds had wings. 

What if...?

He pulled out his phone and started typing frantically into Google. 

* * *

Several hours later, Crowley was standing outside the bookshop, holding a carefully wrapped mince pie and a bottle of wine. He took a deep breath and readied himself for a grand entrance. Would it work? He had no idea, but Crowley was a man-shaped being who had been pushed to the limits of his sanity, and he had to try.

During his research that afternoon, he had decided to focus on a few main behaviors of just one particular species. There were certainly a multitude of options, but the one that seemed the most obvious match for Crowley was _Corvus corax_. The common raven.

From what he’d read on Wikipedia, “aerial acrobatics, demonstrations of intelligence, and ability to provide food are key behaviors of courting. Once paired, they tend to nest together for life, usually in the same location.”

 _Well_ , thought Crowley. _That’s certainly the plan. Here goes nothing_.

He kicked open the door. “Aziraphale! Are you here?”

The angel appeared from between the stacks, looking somewhat alarmed. “Crowley?” he said, incredulous. “What’s going on? Did you just… kick my door open?”

“Yes, I did,” Crowley said, wrenching the glasses from his face and hurling them across the room. “Because I am strong, and not easily intimidated, and I can do that.” His eyes flashed bright, and he set his jaw in what he hoped was a tight, determined snarl.

“Uh,” Aziraphale gaped. “Oh. All right, then.”

Crowley crossed the space between them quickly, going down on one knee and thrusting the pie and wine upwards, presenting them to the angel as if they were holy relics being offered to the pope. 

Aziraphale flinched backwards, startled by the briskness of Crowley’s movements. All his usual lazy swagger was gone, his gestures efficient and succinct. “Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“Angel, I am quite capable of providing food and nourishment for you. Anything you want. Anything you like.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. “That’s very nice, dear.” He reached out to take the pie from Crowley’s hand, peeking under the tin foil. “Mmmm, it smells delicious. Thank you!”

Crowley popped up from the floor, standing to his full height again, his back rigid and hands clasped at his sides. “You’re welcome, angel. I’m also very acrobatic. I can do _this_.”

As if to demonstrate, Crowley stepped back, and cartwheeled into the other room, pirouetting around like a ballet dancer, and hopped back on one foot, returning to Aziraphale. He opened his wings, letting them flare out to their full span, and arched them overhead as high as they would go. 

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale remarked, watching with interest.

“I’m also very intelligent, you know,” Crowley said, hopping from one foot to the other in some kind of rhythmic knee-popping dance, keeping solid eye contact with Aziraphale all the while.

“Oh, yes,” agreed Aziraphale. “I’m well aware.”

“For example, did you know that in somewhere between five to seven billion years from now, our Sun will become a Red Giant, eventually going supernova and destroying everything in its path like one great big fireball? It’ll swallow the Earth up whole and the rest of the solar system along with it.”

Aziraphale’s face fell. “Uh… Oh,” he said. “Well, that’s…”

“A trick, angel!” Crowley exclaimed. “Just testing you! Ha! Everyone knows the universe itself will turn into a great big puddle of jello long before that, based on the estimated terminal velocity of dark matter, and all. It’s just simple physics.”

Aziraphale squinted at him, as if he wasn’t quite sure about the veracity of that statement. The truth was, post-Apocanope, how the universe would come to an end was now one great big cosmic question mark. 

_Shit_ , Crowley thought. Maybe that wasn’t the best demonstration of intelligence to go with. The inevitable heat death of the universe tended to be a bit of a sore spot for those living in it, after all.

“I’m well-versed in topics other than astrophysics, angel,” he said, lowering his wings so they sort of curled around his shoulders, the primary flight feathers pointing off to the sides. Aziraphale watched them appreciatively, raising his eyebrows. 

“Is that so?” he asked, giving Crowley what could only be interpreted as bedroom eyes. 

_Holy shit, it’s working!_ Crowley couldn’t believe it.

“Oh yeah,” he said, dropping the hoppy dance and stepping in a bit closer to Aziraphale, so his wings brushed against the angel’s shoulders too. 

Aziraphale smiled up at him, beaming like a golden sun. “Like what?”

Crowley froze, having completely lost his train of thought. “Huh?”

“Tell me something,” said Aziraphale, all fluttering eyelashes. “On another topic?”

“Oh!” Crowley startled. “Right! Uh… Well, although we remember Edgar Allan Poe today as the father of the detective tale and hold him up as the quintessential author of the spooky Victorian gothic ghost story, he suffered through poverty and relative obscurity for most of his life. Also, he believed his greatest work not to be the now ubiquitous poem _The Raven_ , but instead his maritime novel, _The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket_ , which critics ripped to shreds. Later on, it fell into obscurity after the publication of Herman Melville’s _Moby Dick_ , which historians cited as being a much better example of the genre overall.”

“Hmmm,” mused Aziraphale. “Never much cared for either one, if I’m honest. Too many dead whales."

Crowley wasn’t sure whether or not to count that as a success. He had his facts right, but Aziraphale seemed less than enthused by the topic itself. _Fuck_. He’d thought Victorian literature would be a shoe-in. All right, time to pull out the big guns. 

He took several steps back from Aziraphale and started hopping again. He flexed his wings, making them rise up and down on his back, opening and closing in time with his hops. He paused, bending his knees in a slight crouch, lowered his wings down until they were brushing the floor, and rocked his hips back and forth in what could only be described as a...sort of twerking motion.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said in a vaguely curious tone of voice. “Would you mind telling me what exactly it is you’re doing?”

“Uh,” Crowley said, freezing in place, his rear end elevated behind him. “It’s a dance.”

“But there’s no music playing.”

“Oh,” said Crowley. “Should there be?”

Aziraphale grinned, skipping over to the Victrola. He laid the cassette tape containing Vivaldi’s _The Four Seasons_ onto the surface of the turntable, and (somehow, against all realistic expectations to the contrary) music poured from the speakers. 

It was at that exact moment, with his ass in the air and the staccato sounds of _Summer in G Minor_ coming from Aziraphale’s Victrola, that Crowley lost all ability to go on. 

This was ridiculous.

And it was absolutely not working.

He stood, dissolving his wings away into the ethereal plane, and sighed. 

Aziraphale twittered back over to Crowley, humming along with the feverishly high-paced violins. When he looked up, his face fell. “Well now,” he said, noting Crowley’s missing wings and droopy appearance. “What ever is the matter?

“Oh, forget it,” Crowley huffed, walking over to flop on the couch. 

Aziraphale followed him, standing at the end of the couch and wringing his hands together, fidgeting. “Crowley?” he probed. “Did I do something wrong?”

Crowley looked up at him, feeling like a complete idiot, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “What do you want from me, angel?”

“I… what?” Aziraphale appeared perplexed.

“I’ve tried everything, haven’t I? Dinners, chocolate; _clubbing_. I can’t understand it. You’ve got—” he gestured towards the modernist little corner with it’s black table and newly added clear acrylic chair, “Shiny plastic decor going in…”

“Oh,” Aziraphale turned to the corner, wincing. “You don’t like it?”

“And high-powered electronics…” Crowley waved his hand toward the recently acquired flat screen television that could disappear behind an antique room divider when desired, and the PlayStation 4 tucked in the undercarriage of an old side table otherwise covered with astrolabes, ancient books, and various objects belonging to Aziraphale’s existing collection. “It’s so obvious what you’re doing, and yet…”

“Obvious?” Aziraphale flinched, his cheeks going pink. “What’s obvious?”

“You’re nesting!” Crowley shouted. “You’re building a nest. Or… re-building one, maybe. Rearranging.” He locked eyes with the angel, and his voice grew soft. “Making room for someone new.”

Aziraphale stared at Crowley for a beat. Then he looked around, silent, his eyes falling on the new blankets laid neatly over the back of the couch, soft and warm and deep black in color. The houseplants that had started in the foyer, gradually proliferating until there were pothos hanging from every corner of the lower ceiling, succulents tucked along the line of windows behind the rolltop desk, and various bits of foliage dotting table tops all over the shop. 

Perhaps most telling were the little tartan throw pillows at the end of the couch with a distinctly red stripe running through the pattern. Crowley was quite certain that hadn’t been there before. Aziraphale’s eyes fell on it now, and his cheeks bloomed a similar shade of red.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said quietly. “Did you not… realize what you were doing?”

“I…” Aziraphale began, his eyes roving the room once more, taking in all the individually minor but collectively noteworthy changes to it. “You don’t like it.”

“Wha— Whether or not I like it is hardly the point. But that is what you’re doing,” said Crowley, growing a bit exasperated now. 

Aziraphale frowned, suddenly turning his attention away from the room and onto Crowley. “Well, what if I am?” He asked, somewhat aggressively. “You’ve certainly been spending more time here, of late. Don’t see why I shouldn’t try to make it a little more comfortable for you. Is that some sort of crime, now?” He turned, pointing to the acrylic chair. “But seriously, do you hate that? Because it can go — I’m not particularly fond.”

Crowley grimaced in the direction of the clear plastic seat. “Nnn,” he intoned, shrugging apologetically. “Not really into it, no. I’d go in more of a… Restoration Hardware… stainless steel sort of direction, if it were me.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale deflated visibly. 

“S’alright, angel,” Crowley stood up, putting his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “You tried. I like all the rest just fine,” he said, looking around the room and nodding appreciatively.

“Well, I…” Aziraphale backed away, worrying his hands again. “I suppose I shouldn’t have just assumed. Bit presumptuous of me, really.”

“Presumptuous?” Crowley said, squinting. 

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale shrugged, looking at his own shoes. “There are rituals, you know. I really had no right… It would have been a bit more proper if…”

“Angel,” Crowley sighed. “I’m not… What exactly do you think I’ve been trying to do? These last few weeks? _That_ ” — he pointed back toward the other end of the room where his… display… had taken place — “Whatever the _fuck_ that was?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale frowned, as if he’d forgotten all about Crowley’s mad dancing antics until just now. “Yes, dear. I’m sorry to say that did somewhat confuse me. Wondered if you’d gotten drunk a bit early in the evening. What was all that?”

“Bird courtship!” Crowley shouted for all the world to hear, like some sort of madman. He felt mad. Must have been mad, to ever think that might work. “Here you are, going around with your little modern additions and your cozy blankets and what-not, and I thought… What the hell? The gifts and the nights out and the dinner dates haven’t done it yet, so why not try a less than human approach. Go at it from the angle of something with a few more feathers. Seemed perfectly rational at the time! Couldn’t say why, now!”

Aziraphale frowned. “Haven’t done what, dear?”

“ _What_?” Crowley said, feeling insane.

“What did the dinner dates and the gifts not do?”

“They’re overtures, angel,” Crowley nearly screamed in frustration. “Human expressions of… desire, an attempt to court, woo, attract, whatever you wanna call it! And none of that was working, so I thought, in what I now see was a moment of utter madness—”

“B-but what do you mean, it didn’t work?” Aziraphale interrupted.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, wild-eyed, the slits of his pupils shrinking to nothing.

“You’re here, darling,” Aziraphale opened his palms, indicating the room around them. “This is yours as much now as it is mine. It’s ours. I’m sharing it with you. We’re… nesting together. That is…” He looked down at his wringing hands again. “Assuming I haven’t overstepped. Assuming that is… what you want.”

“Wh—what?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale stepped closer, looping his arms around the demon in a loose hug. “You don’t need to woo me. I’m already yours.” He leaned back a bit, wiggling his shoulders with a grin. “Consider me wooed.”

“But,” Crowley shook his head, trying to process what Aziraphale was saying. “All you wanted to do was play card games. And bloody Monopoly.”

“Well,” Aziraphale shrugged. “I thought maybe we’d start there, and…”

“And what?” Crowley frowned. 

“And,” Aziraphale blinked, his cheeks blushing a lovely shade of pink. “If you wanted to do something else…” Crowley watched him incredulously, “I thought you’d say so. You’ve never been one to play so coy before. I was beginning to think you’d never make a move.”

Crowley sputtered. “I was waiting for _you_ to make one! I don’t—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale let go, stepping away from him in an irritated huff. “I did!”

“Wha—”

Aziraphale glared at him, speaking through gritted teeth. “I started nesting.”

 _OH._ The reality hit Crowley like a ton of bricks. “Holy shit. I _am_ an idiot.”

Aziraphale’s eyes softened as he approached the demon and placed a soft kiss on his nose. “That’s all right, dear. You’re _my_ idiot.” He looked around the room again. “So, you do like it? Save for that awful plastic chair?”

Crowley laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, angel. It’s nice. I like it just fine. Plastic chair and all.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale beamed. “I’m so glad. You should bring some of your own things, if you like. Take up some room. You could bring that great big throne you like so much.”

Crowley turned, eyeing the small space currently occupied by the little acrylic chair. “It’s a bit bigger than that one, angel. Don’t know it’ll fit.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Aziraphale. “We’ll find a place for it. Wherever you like. Oh, and the da Vinci. I know just where we can hang it.”

Crowley smiled. “How about that statue you like? The one with the angels… wrestling?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed again, and then he was staring at Crowley’s lips, licking his own. “Of course,” he said softly. “I’m sure we could fit that in... somewhere.”

Crowley huffed a laugh. “Well, good. Glad we got that all settled. Now uh… Angel. Unless you’d rather spend the evening playing UNO again—”

“I think we should go upstairs,” Aziraphale said, grabbing Crowley’s hand. ”Perhaps we can try our own rendition of… angelic wrestling.”

“Guh, uh…” Crowley’s brain short-circuited only a little. “Y-yeah. Yes. Let’s do that, then.”

“Wonderful,” Azirphale said breathlessly, already pulling Crowley toward the staircase. “Maybe you can do that move where you put your bottom in the air, again, dear. That was most impressive.”

“ _Ngk_ — That is absolutely not happening,” Crowley choked, letting Aziraphale pull him through the door into the little upstairs flat.

“Ooh, you’re no fun,” Aziraphale pouted.

But of course, in the end, the demon was never one to deny the angel anything he dared ask for, so it did happen. And it was fun. And they ate mince pie and played Monopoly together for hours afterwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I had this image of Crowley as the bird from [the "LEMME SMASH" video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-TcLxlkc2pA), and I needed to make that happen. I wanted to write something short and fun after my GOBB was done, and this is what happened, lol. If I had more time/effort to put into this, he might have kept trying multiple styles of bird courtship on different occasions. Just imagine Crowley hopping around while twirling blue glowsticks with his wings behind him like the Blue Bird of Paradise, trying to emulate [THIS GUY](https://www.nationalgeographic.com/content/dam/news/2018/04/18/bird-of-paradise/02-bird-of-paradise-A012_C010_1029SF_0001575.ngsversion.1524085206705.adapt.1900.1.jpg). Swans do this sort of dance where they touch their necks against each other... Boobies do that thing where they dip their heads and raise their feet? Could have been hilarious, but I wanted to keep this short and sweet and get it done. 
> 
> If you're curious about the move Crowley is doing that looks like twerking, I swear to god, I didn't make that up. Here are two common ravens gettin' it on (CW: bird porn, lol) and you can see he does PRECISELY THAT in [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBMdgfCPfmE&start=0s).
> 
> Lol, anyway. Hope you enjoyed this cracky nonsense. It actually wound up more feelsy than I intended, WHUPS. Haha, thanks all. Love you!


End file.
